


Everything We Need Is Right In Front Of Us

by ladybonehollows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Learning to trust, M/M, dad!Quentin, ouat AU, the magicians alternate universe week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 09:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20544191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: Stopping short as they reached the edge of the forest, Quentin’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the beanstalk that twisted higher and higher until, impossibly, it disappeared into the clouds. Until now, he hadn’t ruled out the possibility that he was being tricked, that of course there wasn’t a beanstalk, that wasridiculous, except that it was right there, less than a mile away and completely real.The beanstalk that Quentin needs to return home to his son is at the top of a beanstalk with a giant at the top. Everything would be so much simpler if he didn't know that his guide, Fillorian native Eliot Waugh, was working for the Fairy Queen. Can he trust him to help him get home?





	Everything We Need Is Right In Front Of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rizcriz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/gifts).

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY RIZ!
> 
> Also written for Day 6 of The Magicians Rec Center's Alternate Universe Week
> 
> Thank you to Gigi for looking this over for me, and Sam and Maii for assuring me that my ideas weren't stupid. Love you all.

Stopping short as they reached the edge of the forest, Quentin’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the beanstalk that twisted higher and higher until, impossibly, it disappeared into the clouds. Until now, he hadn’t ruled out the possibility that he was being tricked, that of course there wasn’t a beanstalk, that was _ridiculous_, except that it was right there, less than a mile away and completely real.

“Holy shit,” Julia said, coming to a stop beside him, and all he could do was huff a laugh, incredulous.

Their guide was not so easily impressed, or maybe this wasn’t the first time he’d seen it. Maybe things like this were just the norm in Fillory. Either way, the look Eliot threw at them over his shoulder as he stopped a few paces ahead of them was more than a little smug. “I bet you don’t get anything like this on Earth.”

He was too impressed to care. “I didn’t even know magic was real until a year ago,” he said, letting his eyes catch on every curve and twist of the beanstalk as it rose up into the sky.

“There are no beanstalks on Earth,” Alice said matter-of-factly, barely pausing as she strode past them. Of course she would know — he was fairly confident that few people knew more about magic than Alice Quinn, and that included most of the teachers at Brakebills. “And no giants, either.”

“Wait,” Quentin said, but she didn’t even pause, only hitched her pack up higher on her shoulder and continued on toward the beanstalk. He turned to Julia instead. “Giants?”

Julia lifted her shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “What did you think was at the top?”

If he were honest, he hadn’t thought about it at all. The only thing that was up there that mattered was the compass that would take him home to his son, the tool that would open up a portal back to Earth. He hadn’t thought any further than that. But giants… He turned helplessly toward Eliot, hoping for some kind of reassurance that they were having him on, or that they were at least wrong. They certainly didn’t know Fillory better than he did.

Although Fillory, it turned out, wasn’t much like it was in the books.

The unapologetic smile Eliot gave him before he turned and started to follow Alice toward the beanstalk was the opposite of reassuring. Trying to ignore the dread pulling at his insides, Quentin fell into step behind them.

Their first night in Fillory, they’d traded Juila’s rings for a night in a tavern, and Alice’s necklace for their dinner, and that was how they’d met Eliot Waugh. Quentin hadn’t been able to think past how to get home to his son, especially knowing that the Beast was still hunting him and the people that he cared about, but nothing in Fillory and Further had told him how to get back to Earth. Usually Ember and Umber kicked out the Chatwins whenever they’d decided they were done in Fillory for now, but the fact that no one had seen either of Fillory’s gods for decades made that a non-starter.

Eliot had cornered him when he’d gotten up to use the facilities. He’d overheard them talking about the Beast and about Earth, had told him that he knew a way to get them home, as long as the person opening the portal had been to the place on the other side. And, as a bonus, he’d kill the Beast for them if they would take him with them.

It was too good to be true. Eliot was too good to be true.

They didn’t have another choice.

The beanstalk was even bigger close up. Putting his hand flat on one of the thick, twisting vines that shot out of the ground, he craned his neck, feeling almost nauseous with it as he leaned back to see as much of it as he could. He couldn’t tell if it disappeared into the clouds before or after it became too tall and narrow to see, and that… that was terrifying. “I don’t suppose we can fly up there?”

“Unfortunately, no. We have to keep the magic to a minimum.” If that fact bothered Eliot, then he didn’t let it show. He walked a lap around the base of the beanstalk, trailing his hand along the vines until he came to Quentin and backed up a few steps, squinting as he looked up. “While we’re on the beanstalk, and at the top. Giants can smell magic. We can’t afford to give them any indication that we’re coming.”

“When you say they can smell magic…?” Julia said warily.

“Any spells that you perform. Enchantments or curses that are laid upon you. They can smell it in your blood.”

“Fee fie foe fum,” Alice said under her breath. Quentin’s stomach sank as the realisation hit him. “They’ll know we’re coming anyway.”

Rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, Eliot tapped the narrow cuff that encircled his wrist. He pulled the matching one from his other wrist and waved it in the air. “Not if you’re wearing this, my dear. The spellwork in these are tuned to fly under their radar, and to mute the wearer from their senses. They won’t smell us, and we can probably get away with a simple spell or two if we need it.”

“What’s the catch?” Quentin asked. There had to be a reason why he was only just mentioning this now.

Eliot tossed the cuff lightly into the air, and Quentin watched as it flipped in a sequence of unlikely turns before he snatched it out of the air again. “I only have two. And I’m using one of them, since I’m the only one who knows where we’re going.” He waved his hand in their general direction as he turned away. “Go ahead, fight amongst yourselves.”

“I’m going,” Julia said immediately.

“_I’m _going,” Quentin said. He glanced at Eliot, leaning against the beanstalk a few paces away, arms crossed loosely across his chest. He was looking out across the field, but Quentin had no doubt that he was listening. “I need to get back to Teddy, Jules. I know you can handle whatever’s up there, but I have to do this. I can’t just sit here and wait, I have to do _something_.”

She frowned, obviously not happy about it, but after a moment she nodded, letting it go. It would have been pointless — there was no way that he wasn’t going to be the person going up that beanstalk. Relieved that he didn’t have to have the argument, Quentin stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

As soon as he let go, Alice’s hand was on his arm, pulling him a few steps away. "Be careful with him," she said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the others. "I know we've only been here for a few days and the politics are complicated, but I overheard him talking to someone in the tavern last night about getting something lined up for when he defeats the Beast and finishes his contract with the Fairy Queen. I've picked up enough to know that she's bad news, Quentin. It doesn't look like she's on the same side as the Beast, but that doesn't make her any less dangerous, or the people that work for her."

He resisted the urge to turn around and look at Eliot, keeping his eyes firm on Alice instead. He hadn't been foolish enough not to think that Eliot's story was more complicated than he was letting on. He'd heard enough about the fairies that had a stranglehold on Fillory to know that they probably weren't the heroes of this story, and the thought of Eliot working for them gave him pause… but not enough to erase the fact that he had a way to get him home to Teddy, and wanted to kill the Beast himself. The enemy of my enemy and all that. It was a chance he was willing to take. But still… "I'll be careful," he promised.

Turning back to the others, he smiled with as much enthusiasm as he could muster as Eliot took his time in pushing off of the beanstalk and walking over to him. “Looks like it’s you and me, hmm?” he said, looking far too delighted than the situation called for.

“Looks like it,” he said, as Eliot took his hand and wrapped the cuff around his wrist.

Did he imagine the stroke of Eliot’s thumb along his palm before he let go? He definitely didn’t imagine the wink he threw him before he turned toward the beanstalk. But Eliot wasn’t even looking at him now, his attention focused on his first handhold, looking down to find the first place to set his foot.

It didn’t matter. Quentin was _not _going to let anything distract him from getting the compass. No matter how nice his smile was.

The worst part of the first few minutes was knowing that Julia and Alice were watching him, and by the time he was high enough that he knew that they couldn't be judging him on every vine he grabbed, his arms were starting to get tired. Worse was the worry that the next piece of the stalk that he gripped onto was going to snap under his weight and he would plummet miles and miles down to —

But no, he _wasn't thinking about that._

After a comment about preferring a different kind of full body workout that Quentin was _also_ trying not to think about, Eliot had been surprisingly quiet, but Quentin was quickly coming to realise that he needed the distraction. He paused, taking a handhold a little to the left of the path he'd been taking so he could see him more clearly around the beanstalk. "So, um…" Eliot looked across at him immediately, and Quentin turned his own eyes up, trying to look casual about it. "Have you ever climbed a beanstalk before?"

"Not even once," Eliot said, and when Quentin risked a glance at him, he was smiling as though it were no big deal neither of them had any real clue about what to expect.

He didn't want to ask about the giants at the top. Didn't want to even think about it. It was fairly likely that they weren't the Roald Dahl kind. And besides, there was something else that he'd been trying very hard not to ask him about as soon as he'd mentioned that beanstalks were real and that what they needed was at the top of one. "Do you… Do you know someone named Jack?"

Quentin kept his eyes on the vine he was reaching for, but still heard the smile in Eliot's voice. "Should I?"

Feeling embarrassed for even asking — just because Fillory was real didn't mean that everything was, and he did _not_ want Eliot to tell Julia that he'd asked about Jack and the Beanstalk — Quentin shook his head before he realised that Eliot was probably looking at his own way rather than at Quentin. "Um, no. No, it's… nothing." He pulled himself up higher, fighting against the strain in his arms, trying to outrun the moment.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Eliot said, and he wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he was in fact paying attention to him. "You have to pace yourself. Maybe we should take a break."

"I don't want a break," he said, extending himself further to grab a higher twist of the vine. "I want to get this compass so I can go home."

"Well, _I_ want a break." Quentin looked across — and then down, since Eliot was hanging off the beanstalk a few yards below him. Frustrated, Quentin stopped, and Eliot climbed slowly higher until he was even with him, wrapping an arm through a vine. He rolled his shoulders, bending his neck from side to side to loosen his muscles.

Quentin immediately became more aware of the aches in his own body. His arms were tired from pulling himself up, and his hands sore from the roughness of the vine. Pulling on the vine in his hand to test its strength, he hooked his elbow through it, letting it take his weight. _Don’t look down, _he thought, and then immediately glanced down to the ground.

Except the ground was _far_. He couldn’t make out Julia or Alice at all, and the only thing to distinguish the field from the forest was the darker green of the treetops. His stomach dropped, his head spinning as his subconscious tried to make sense of something being _so far below him_.

“Hey. Don’t look down.” Eliot’s soft voice did nothing to soothe him, and when a hand settled on his shoulder it only made him jump. The touch withdrew for a moment before pressing harder against his shoulder, turning him away from the ground. “Coldwater,” he said more sharply. “Look at me.”

Instead, Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, clinging tighter to the vine. He pressed his forehead against the beanstalk, mortification rising up in him alongside his panic. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, shivering and tightening his grip as the breeze picked up a little around them. Eliot’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, and… it wouldn’t have been an unwelcome comfort, if he could stop feeling embarrassed for letting him think he needed it in the first place. “Just give me a second.”

Silently, Eliot squeezed his shoulder before letting go, and Quentin let out his breath in a long, low exhale. He could do this. He just had to get to the top, sneak past a giant… defeat a giant? Kill a giant? Oh god, why hadn’t he asked?

It didn’t matter. He had to do it, whatever it took.

He heard the soft creak not far away that told him that Eliot was shifting his weight, and then a careful clearing of his throat a moment later. “Why don’t you tell me about the man you’re trying to get back to? Teddy, right?”

“Oh, so you were eavesdropping,” Quentin said. He didn’t want to tell this stranger about Teddy, no matter how helpful or flirty he was. He was dangerous as well; Quentin could practically taste it. Taking one last steadying deep breath, he opened his eyes and adjusted his grip, looking upward for his next handhold.

From his periphery, he saw Eliot hesitate for a moment before he started climbing again too. “It’s not on me if you have a conversation at normal volume right beside me. So, distract yourself. Is he your husband? Lover?”

“No,” he said shortly, testing his weight on a vine before stepping onto it. “My son.” Teddy’s face danced across his vision, his perfect brave little smile when he’d told him that Marina would keep him safe, that Kady and Penny would be nearby, and that he’d be back in just a few hours. That had been four days ago. His friends would make sure that Teddy was okay, that Marina wouldn’t doublecross them while he was gone, but that didn’t make him any less alone right now, any less vulnerable. “And he’s… alone right now, with someone I don’t trust, while the Beast is hunting everyone I care about. So I kind of really want to get this stupid compass and get out of here.”

Silence stretched out between them, broken only by the shift of the beanstalk, the wind in their ears, and Quentin’s neverending fear echoing in his mind. He worked past the strain in his muscles, and Eliot kept pace with apparent ease. He was just starting to think that Eliot was going to let the subject drop when he finally spoke. “I know fear of the Beast,” he said, his voice quiet and solemn. “And rage. I haven’t stopped searching for a way to defeat him, not since he killed the man I love. I have a friend who managed to slip through a portal into Earth, she’s been hunting him and she’s getting close. I stayed here to find a way to kill him. There’s a blade that I’ll need to retrieve before we open the portal to Earth, and I can use it to kill him. But it’s useless unless I can get there.”

Pausing, Quentin turned to look at Eliot, but it was his turn to avoid his eye. He imagined all of the anxiety, all of the panic inside him, and how it would crash down on him if anything happened to Teddy. Eliot had to live with that. He could see it now, in the set of his jaw, the haunted look in his eye. The desperation that had lived underneath the charm that he’d layered on thick when he’d convinced them to take him with them.

Eliot didn’t falter, and after a beat Quentin picked up his pace again. “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing the words were meaningless. “That’s... that’s a lot, to throw your whole life into it.”

Meaningless and laughable, if Eliot’s scoff was any indication. “Tell me, Coldwater,” he said, finally dropping his eyes to meet his, his gaze almost a challenge as he leaned around the beanstalk toward him. “Have you ever been in love?”

Teddy immediately came to mind, but he knew that that wasn’t what he meant. Unwillingly, his mind turned to the one person who he’d thought he might be building a future with… and he did, technically, just not in the way he’d expected. Arielle had broken his heart when she’d left in the middle of the night. He’d spent four years not knowing that he was a father, not until she’d appeared on his doorstep with a child in tow and then was out the door again half an hour later.

The anger that he held toward her had settled to a simmer, but it flared every time he thought about the way she’d kept Teddy from him, hadn’t even _told_ him about him — not until she’d decided that she couldn’t be a parent any longer. He wasn’t sure whether he was more angry with her for leaving the first time or the second, but either way, he couldn’t think past it enough to think of anything soft like _love_. “No,” he said, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He forced a smile, knowing it came out more like a grimace. “I have never been in love.”

Eliot's eyes were far too knowing. After a moment he looked away and resumed his climb, oblivious to the shiver that went through Quentin. "Then you wouldn't understand."

They climbed for what felt like hours, but Quentin was aware that his perception of time was likely distorted by anxiety and exhaustion. They climbed into the chill of the clouds, but instead of breaking through to sunlight on the other side, the beanstalk started to narrow, and Quentin could have cried in relief when he caught sight of a stone ring above their heads.

Another five minutes later, and Quentin was reaching out from the beanstalk to take Eliot’s offered hand. It closed around his firmly, and Quentin placed his other on the lip of the wall to pull himself over. Relief at the idea of putting his feet on solid ground made him hasty, and he stumbled over the wall as pain shot through his palm, cursing as he clutched his hand to his chest. “God fucking damn it,” he muttered, uncurling his hand to see blood seeping from the gash in his skin.

“Did you — well, shit,” Eliot said with a sigh. It was only then that Quentin remembered what Eliot had said about giants smelling the magic in their blood, but Eliot waved away his worry before he could speak it. “We’re safe while we’re wearing the cuffs, but you can’t just let that bleed everywhere. And I can’t heal it for you. Healing magic uses too much power to risk it.” He pressed his lips together thoughtfully for a moment. “I can use enough magic to numb the pain at least.”

The sting was enough that he wasn’t going to complain, not if Eliot thought it was safe. Eliot reached inside his coat, and Quentin took the moment to look over his shoulder, curious about just what was at the top of the beanstalk.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t… this. The light was muted as though it were dusk, despite the fact that it must have only been early afternoon when they were nearing the top of the beanstalk. It wasn’t a fruitful utopia — there were no a golden geese in sight. Wait — was the goose golden, or was it just the eggs that it laid? He couldn’t remember, but there didn’t seem to be anything living up here, golden or otherwise.

Everything was _huge_, though. If he’d had any doubts about giants before, they faded away at the size of the castle up ahead.

Quentin turned his attention back to Eliot as he pulled out a flask, uncapping it and taking a long draw. “Is that for the spell?” he asked dryly.

“No,” Eliot said, taking his hand and holding it still while he tipped the flask over it. Amber liquid splashed out over his hand, creating a sharp edge to the sting in his palm. Quentin tried to snatch his hand away in reflex, but Eliot held it still, ignoring his mumble of protest.

Tucking the flask back inside his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping it tightly around his hand, slipping one end through but leaving it loose. He touched the cuff on his wrist as though making sure that it was still there before he let go of Quentin’s wrist, taking one end of the handkerchief instead. “Hold still.”

Quentin blinked in surprise when he bent over his hand, taking the other end of the handkerchief between his teeth. That incredulity melted into something deeper when Eliot looked up at him through his eyelashes, his eyes so intense as he pulled the fabric tight that Quentin didn’t realise that Eliot was moving the fingers of his free hand in a series of tuts over Quentin’s as he did so.

Straightening up, Eliot tucked the corner of the handkerchief in, and Quentin forced himself to look away. He could feel his cheeks warming, felt too hot all over all of a sudden, but denying that he’d been staring would only make it worse. And avoiding his eyes would make it more obvious, he told himself, forcing himself to look back at him and regretting it immediately when he caught his smug smile. “Do you have to be so dramatic about it?” he protested weakly.

“The spell needed the pressure on the wound while I did the tut,” Eliot said with an unapologetic shrug. Quentin wasn’t certain that he was lying, not necessarily, but he was pretty sure that the flair in everything that he did wasn’t strictly required. He couldn’t understand why he was still turning it on him when he’d already agreed to help each other get to Earth. He was already standing at the top of the beanstalk, wasn’t he? Eliot nodded down to his hand, still elevated between them. “Does your hand still hurt?”

It didn’t, and neither did the rest of his body, he realised in surprise. He still felt tired, but the aches of protesting muscles had faded down to something almost imperceptible. “No,” he said, once more completely blown away with the things that magic could do.

“You’re welcome,” Eliot said, bowing over his hand with a flourish. “Remind me to heal you properly when we get back on the ground, before your body starts feeling the pain again. It’ll hit you all at once, and it’s not pleasant,” he said cheerfully. “Now come on, let’s knock out a giant.”

Knocking out the giant actually turned out to be surprisingly straightforward. Eliot had a small bag filled with a powder that would render a giant unconscious, although he was more tight-lipped about exactly _where _he'd come across the powder — which told Quentin exactly who had given it to him. He thought back to what Alice had said to him before he'd begun the climb. He wished they knew more about the fairies, about what they were doing in Fillory, about what they wanted, what kind of things Eliot might be doing for them.

Whether any of those things had anything to do with him.

Which was ridiculous — he was just a guy from Earth trying to get back to his kid. And Eliot… He'd seen on his face earlier, heard in his voice the strength of his hatred for the Beast. He couldn't doubt his reasons for hunting him down, or for suggesting they work together to find the way back. Even with the compass, Eliot couldn’t get to Earth without someone who had been there. He needed Quentin just as much as he needed him, maybe more.

Pushing down his worries about Eliot had only led him to panicking about the giant, but Eliot had quickly proved that getting the giant to inhale the powder would be the easy part. His affinity for telekinesis meant that it took very little magic for him to propel the bag right up the giants nose as he came out to investigate the fireball that Quentin had conjured in the courtyard. The crash as his body had hit the ground made the stones shake beneath their feet, and he wondered for the first time how structurally sound a castle in the sky was.

Letting the fireball fizzle out, Quentin took a hesitant step forward when the giant’s body slumped across the ground. He was surprised to find that he looked just like a larger version of a man — much larger, but still. Nervous excitement pumping through his veins, he crept closer, wanting to get a better look at him. He could have easily fit his whole body into the palm of his hand, he realised with a rush. He stared at his face in wonder, at the flare of his huge nostrils as he exhaled. Fucking… _giants_. Would his life stop getting weirder?

“Come on,” Eliot said quietly, and Quentin felt a hand encircle his arm just above his elbow. “I think he’s the only one, but I’d rather not stick around to find out.”

“How long will it keep him out for?” Quentin breathed, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the giant’s sleeping form as he let Eliot pull him along.

“That’s another thing I’d not like to stick around for.”

Thankfully the giant had left the door open, because there was no way that they would have been able to budge it themselves. They stepped through it and then stopped short at the sight before them.

It was a large entrance hall, much like he’d expect from a traditional castle — like he’d imagined Whitespire to be — but on a vastly larger scale. Treasure filled every corner of the room, items golden and silver and bejewelled on every available surface and strewn haphazardly between. “Holy shit,” Quentin said, frozen at the sight of so much gold.

Eliot stepped forward first, walking over to a nearby pillar with a chest upon it that appeared to be made of gold itself, filled with rubies or garnets or some other red Fillorian stone. Gold coins crunched underneath his feet as he stepped over them. “How much do you think we can carry down? As well as the compass, of course,” he added quickly.

“We’re not here for anything else,” he said firmly, forcing his feet to move, faltering when he realised that they had to somehow find the compass in all of this. “I… shit. I don’t suppose you can just… float it over here from wherever it is? Accio compass?”

Eliot turned away from the chest with obvious reluctance. “It doesn’t work like that. I have to know where it is, or at least have a sense of the thing. I know it’s up here, but —” he shrugged “— your guess is as good as mine. It could be anywhere.”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Okay,” he said louder, turning to the other side of the hall from where Eliot had gone toward. “We better start — oh shit, wait.”

Goosebumps broke out over his skin as he approached the long, narrow table. A variety of items were spread out across it, but Quentin only had eyes for one thing._ It can’t be._

His hands were shaking as he picked up the crown. The obsidian and the red and golden stones glittered in the light from the torches around the room, and the corners were rough against his thumb when he ran it over them.

He heard another crunch underfoot, and looked up at Eliot incredulously when he saw that he’d followed him over. “This is Rupert Chatwin’s crown,” he said in disbelief. He had half a dozen crowns like this packed up in his father’s basement, made after the rough sketches in the Fillory books. He'd never dreamed he might hold the real thing, let alone that the real thing might actually exist.

“The crown of the high king,” Eliot said.

There were no Children of Earth currently ruling over Fillory, and it had been unclear from what they’d gleaned so far whether the common population thought that was a good thing or not. He didn’t know what Eliot’s opinions on it were, felt too awkward to ask with his allegiance to the Fairy Queen unspoken. But whether there was a ruling high king or not, why wasn’t the crown in Whitespire, or under the guard of the Keeper of the Crowns?

He tore his eyes away from the crown, but the question died on his lips when he saw the knowing grin on Eliot's face. "We're here for the compass," he said again, trying and failing to make his voice firm as he lowered the crown back onto the table.

Stepping further into the room, he glanced back over his shoulder forlornly, forcing his eyes away when the crown sparkled at him teasingly.

The longer they searched for, the more Quentin started to convince himself this was an impossible task. The hall was huge, and after half an hour of searching it felt like they hadn't made any progress at all.

While he searched, his thoughts kept going back to the high king's crown. How had such an important royal artefact, the strongest symbol of power aside from the gods, ended up in the treasure collection of a giant? Things in Fillory must be worse than he thought. He was certain that if Ember and Umber were around, then they wouldn't have let it be taken. The going rumour was that they had fled while the Beast had been in power, but then why hadn't they returned when he had turned his eye to Earth instead?

And things didn't seem to be much better while the fairies and the native Fillorians fought for power. But which side was the right side? From everything he'd heard, the Fillorians just wanted control over their lives and their homes again, and he couldn't see how that could be a bad thing. The fairies had done a good job of forcing peace — if that was a thing — but they'd also been redirecting a lot of Fillory's resources to fantastical things that didn't do anything to help Fillory recover from the barren place it had become under the Beast's reign.

At face value, the Fillorians seemed like the obvious side to champion. So why was Eliot working for the Fairy Queen?

"Does this look like a magical portal creating compass to you, or the regular kind?"

Pulling his head out of the deep cupboard of trinkets he was searching through, Quentin's heart skipped a beat hopefully when he saw the compass dangling from the chain in Eliot's hand. He was standing on the other side of the hall, and Quentin crossed it quickly to meet him. As he approached, he started to feel the faint wave of magic coming from it, and felt almost dizzy with relief. "This is it, it has to be."

Eliot swung the compass on its chain, catching it with his other hand. "Looks rather ordinary if you ask me, but if it opens a portal to Earth it can be made out of rocks for all I care. Here," he said, holding it out to him.

This was it. He could get home. He could get back to Teddy. Him and Julia and Alice… and Eliot. He slowly raised his eyes from the compass to look at Eliot, his throat going dry at the reassuring look on his face.

He couldn't have done this without him, and he honestly believed that his fight against the Beast was genuine. His gut told him to trust him, that he was safe, but what did he really know about him? That he was working for the people who were working _against_ Fillory, and that he'd turned his charm up high for Quentin.

Was he letting himself be blinded by that?

If it was still just him to worry about, that would be one thing. But he couldn't risk it. Not with Teddy.

Dropping one arm to his side, he angled it behind his back as he reached for the compass with the other. The warmth of Eliot's hand against his fingers when he wrapped them around the compass made him hesitate, but he couldn't listen to that part of himself, not now. Grabbing the compass, he clutched it tight to his chest as he took three quick steps back, bringing his other hand around and snapping his fingers twice to finish the spell. Eliot's hands flew behind his back and he dropped heavily to his knees, his limbs tied together with invisible rope.

The triumphant smile on Eliot's face faded to uncertainty as he pulled against the binds and found them unyielding. "What… Quentin?" He looked up at him, his brow creased in a frown.

Quentin would have preferred the anger that he was expecting. The use of his first name instead of the teasing tilt of his surname was an extra squeeze of doubt around his heart, but he pushed it away, taking another step pack. Eliot struggled against the rope again, and Quentin felt every pull in the spell that clung to the fingertips of his left hand. "I need to get back to my son," he said, forcing himself not to look away as realisation washed over Eliot's face. "I can't put him in more danger. I know… I know you work for the Fairy Queen, and I can't let that anywhere near him.”

Unable to move his arms, Eliot took a step forward, but stopped again when Quentin stepped backward to keep the distance between them. His heart sank in time with the slump of Eliot’s shoulders. “Yeah, and I’m betraying _her_ by helping you,” he said, looking up at him earnestly. He looked as serious as he’d ever seen him, and much more desperate. “She promised me that she’d help me kill the Beast if I worked for her, but all she has me doing is watching over mushroom fields while my chance at revenge gets further and further away. I have no allegiance to her, I swear it. You can trust me.”

He wanted to. So badly, he wanted to. Instead he shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach. “I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you.”

“Q,” Eliot said, and Quentin’s eyes closed against the nickname, likely overheard from Julia. He couldn’t deny it — he _liked_ Eliot, even after knowing him for only a few days, would have enjoyed getting to know him even if he weren’t so overwhelmingly attracted to him. He wished things could be different, wishing he was brave enough to trust his instincts, wishing that he could know for sure which choices that he made would mean that Teddy ended up safe. “We’re on the same side,” Eliot said, his voice pitching low with feeling. “I want to kill the Beast as much as you do, and I couldn’t give two fucks about what the Fairy Queen is going to do about it. Help me get to Earth, and I’ll help you protect your son. Just don’t _leave me_ here.”

Reluctantly, Quentin forced his eyes open to look at him, and regretted it immediately. His eyes were wide and pleading, completely at odds with the suave indifference he’d shown for most of the time he’d known him.

His need to protect Teddy warred with the instinct thrumming through his body, that he could trust him, that he was safe. That he understood Quentin’s fear, really understood it, and was trying to reach out regardless. That he was just as broken as he was, and clinging to the thing that might hold him together. He couldn’t make the wrong choice just because Eliot was handsome and charming and smiled when he looked at him, but… but he thought he meant it. Fuck, what if he meant it? What if he _could_ help him protect Teddy from the Beast? What if what if what if…?

His fingers were trembling as his hand dropped a little. The spell still held firm, even as his resolve wavered. He should turn around and leave. He should… Drawing in a shuddering breath, he thought about what it would be like for him if the Beast hurt Julia, or… no, he couldn’t even imagine it. And if Eliot could be an asset instead of a threat… “If you get in the way of me getting home…” he said, his voice trembling. “Or defeating the Beast…”

“I won’t,” Eliot said quickly. The over-confidence and bravado that he’d exuded since he’d met him was gone, stripping him down bare. “And I’ll help you keep him safe. I promise.”

Slowly, Quentin let the spell go. Eliot’s hands fell to his sides for half a second before he brought them to his chest, bending over them as he took a moment to… to what? To bask in his success at pulling the wool over Quentin’s eyes?

It didn’t feel like that at all. The relief in his eyes when he looked up at him again was all too real. “Thank you,” he said softly, shifting his weight to one knee so he could push himself to his feet. His eyes never left his, not for a moment. Quentin could already see the mask of his indifference slipping back into place, but it didn’t cover him up completely, not anymore. “Now,” he said, clearing his throat lightly. The smile he offered him was almost bright, almost cheerful. “Let’s get back to the ground and open up this portal. Together.” He held out his hand between them.

Quentin’s immediate response was to shy away — he wasn’t giving up the compass, the only way back to Teddy, not now that he had it in his hands. But Eliot wasn’t looking at the compass. Slowly, he passed the compass to his left hand and reached out to put his right in Eliot’s. “Okay,” he said carefully. He still wasn’t sure that he hadn’t made a mistake, but Eliot’s hand was warm and strong around his. It felt safe. And that was the problem, but he needed to take the chance. For Teddy. If Eliot could help him protect Teddy, then nothing else mattered. “Together,” he said, trying to ignore how right that felt. “Okay.”

* * *

The climb down the beanstalk wasn’t any less exhausting than the way up, but the weight of the chain around his neck, the compass against his chest underneath his shirt, made it feel easier. It wasn’t nearly as heavy as the weight of Eliot’s gaze on him, his eyes on him thoughtful almost every time he glanced across at him.

They were halfway down when Quentin realised that Julia and Alice were waiting for them at the bottom. Or.. not so much that, because he _knew_ that, but he was certain that Julia, at least, would pick up on any weirdness between him and Eliot. “So, um,” he said, meeting Eliot’s eye reluctantly. “It’s probably better for you and for me if we don’t really mention the whole me thinking about leaving you up there thing.”

“Sure,” Eliot said, as though it were that easy. Quentin still had uncertainty and regret and nervous excitement all churning through his stomach at once, but Eliot sounded like he was agreeing not to talk about a picture on the wall sitting crooked. Still, that was better than the wicked grin that flashed over his face a moment later. “You’re definitely going to tell me how you learned that rope spell, though,” he said, looking thoroughly delighted as Quentin picked up his pace, feeling his cheeks flush.

But the thrum he felt all through him at the implication wasn’t important. They had the compass; they had a way home. And they were bringing Eliot with them — Eliot, who would stop at nothing to defeat the Beast, who had promised him protection of his son.

The part of him that was ready to fall so easily into trusting Eliot felt, for the first time, like they might actually have a chance of pulling through this.

He wasn’t going to accept any other option.


End file.
